


Fastened Down

by Sineala



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Crack, Curses, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Placidus just wants Marcus Aquila to suffer horrible pain. How difficult can this possibly be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fastened Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 4 of the ninth_eagle Fanmedia Challenge. Thanks to Bunn for suggesting curse tablets and Bath as a variation on the prompt, and to Lishan and Carmarthen for encouraging this particular iteration and betaing.

It was all Marcus Aquila's fault.

Servius Placidus was not entirely certain how, but it was. It must have been. His fate and that damned Aquila's were as weights on the opposite ends of a scale. And now, as Aquila's fortunes rose, his own were sinking. Aquila must have done something to him. There could be no other explanation.

It should have been an impossible thing, the man's foolish treacherous quest for the Ninth Legion's lost standard. Oh, perhaps he himself had spoken more freely than he should, with too much wine in him on that night, at that dinner, but he had never for an instant thought that Aquila would actually try to fetch the cursed bird. It was only one small thing in the vastness of Caledonia, and Aquila was a lamed man whose slave had glared bitterly, untrusting, from the doorway. Surely no one would have taken such a journey.

But then Aquila had gone, and Placidus, after a few moments of disbelief, had thought nothing more of it. No doubt his slave -- what had his name been? -- had slit his throat when they were two steps past the Wall.

Then, of course, Aquila had come back. He had strode proudly into the hall, dressed like a painted barbarian himself, as if he did not care how he looked, and he had slammed the very Eagle on the table before them. And he had told him how his slave had helped him retrieve it, his slave whose gaze was far, far too smug. And he had told him -- Placidus shut his eyes in shame, remembering -- that this wretched Briton (freed now! who in their right mind would have freed _him_?) had more honor than he did. And then they had left as though they had been the best of friends for years.

Aquila had the favor of all now. The legate. The governor. Even the emperor, possibly, if the rumors were true. Money, land, gifts of all sorts were no doubt being showered upon him even now.

And what did Placidus have? Nothing.

He had gritted his teeth and gone back to his duties, inspecting a few of the forts north of the Wall, in territory that ought to have been secured. The soldiers had sworn it was, too, though the explanations had done them no good when the band of Votadini had come upon them and a screaming warrior had opened Placidus' sword-arm from shoulder to elbow.

It would be usable again, the fort-surgeons said, when he had finally made his way back to Eburacum. In a month or two.

Marcellus looked at him from across the desk, and Placidus could not tell whether the look in his eyes was disappointment or relief. "Go to Aquae Sulis."

"Sir?" Surely there was no reason the legate needed him at the opposite end of the province; he must have misheard.

"Aquae Sulis," Marcellus repeated. "Or wherever you like, tribune, but I hear the waters there are particularly good. You are on leave, and I don't want to see you back until you are healed. Elerius can handle your duties until you are well."

"Sir, that will be months--"

The legate shrugged. "So it will. Enjoy your leave. Try to relax."

He made to salute, forgot his arm was bound, and winced as he tried. "Sir."

He was not sure whether Marcellus' smile was well-wishing or pleasure in his absence, but either way he would be gone.

Well. Aquae Sulis. Why not? Marcellus was clearly not going to let him do anything here.

* * *

The journey to Aquae Sulis was not as bad as it could have been; at least he did not have the most sway-backed nag in the stables. He took the road south to Lindum, then west across most of the island. Other than his arm, it was pleasant enough, and he almost came to enjoy himself by the time he finally, finally reached Aquae Sulis.

He went to the baths immediately, of course, wearied and dirtied as he was from his journey. The water came warm from the ground, they said, a sacred spring; one of the Britons had told him it was from Minerva herself, and indeed there was a temple to the goddess next to the baths. He would offer to her, perhaps, Placidus thought, after he was properly cleaned. The water smelled a little, a faint unpleasant odor, but it was not so bad and he quickly grew accustomed to it.

Placidus smiled to himself as he sank into the warm, warm water of the caldarium pool, sprawling out on the bench and closing his eyes. Ah, this was the life, indeed. If only the rest of the province could be so fine. His arm hardly hurt, and he sighed happily as his muscles relaxed, the soreness of days and days of riding draining away. It would be even better in a bit, once he could get one of the bath's slaves to massage him, and, oh, perhaps additional... services could be bought. Yes, that would be grand. This was a wonderful idea of the legate's. He was almost beginning to like the man.

"Excuse me," someone said, politely. "Would you mind moving a little, so I can sit there as well?"

Was he taking up that much room? "Certainly," Placidus replied, sitting up and opening his eyes--

He was looking straight at Marcus Aquila, the last man he ever wanted to see again.

"Aquila?"

He remembered Aquila and his slave smirking, and he thought perhaps that if Minerva were a kinder goddess the spring would rise up and drown him.

Aquila blinked a few times, his eyes wide, clearly just as surprised to see him as he was. "Placidus?"

He nodded. He couldn't speak.

"Well," Aquila managed. "This is a surprise."

"What are you doing in Aquae Sulis?" he asked, warily. He had thought the man lived in Calleva, with his uncle.

Aquila shrugged and gestured about himself. "Why does anyone come here? We wanted to take in the waters."

"We?" He asked out of habit, then instantly regretted it; he did not care to know anything about Aquila's life.

The look Aquila gave him suggested that he was terribly stupid for not knowing who he meant. "Esca and I, of course. You remember Esca." His eyes narrowed. "You can't have forgotten him. My friend." And there was an odd, defensive sort of fondness as he said it, as if daring Placidus to speak ill of him.

Ah, that had been the slave's name. It was strange that he would speak of him so affectionately, in the same manner as a man might speak of his wife, or his mistress or favorite slave-boy, for Aquila surely could not be bedding... that. It was all strange, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"No, I remember him," Placidus said, faintly.

Aquila's nod was firm. "Excellent. And I could ask the same question of you. Is the Sixth not in Eburacum?"

He did not want to explain how the legate had sent him away. Damn him. "The Sixth is, but I am not." He waved his arm as high as he dared, until the pain struck and he dropped it back into the water, biting back a cry. "I am on leave. Temporary injury."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Aquila, but Placidus knew he was not, not at all. He and his wretched companion would be gloating about his misfortune later, he was certain. "I have offered here and been to the waters every day, and my leg has been helped; I am sure the same fortune will come to you."

It was not fair, Placidus thought, that Aquila's scarred leg should heal while his own wounded arm only pained him. How did Aquila steal even his health from him to increase his own? What magic had he wrought upon him?

"Thank you," he said, through gritted teeth.

Aquila inclined his head. "I am off to the tepidarium now, if you would care to join me--?"

"No," he said. "I will remain here for a while."

He was out of the baths, of course, just as soon as Aquila had risen and entered the other room. He could not let this man ruin him any further. No doubt Aquila had laid a curse on him. Yes, precisely; that must have been it. It explained everything.

Well, he could do exactly the same.

* * *

"One tablet," he said, to the woman next to the baths, and he dug in his pouch for the coins.

She smiled a toothless smile and handed him a little lead sheet. It was convenient that she was here, beside the sacred spring. He had gathered that many of her other customers, judging by the state of their clothing, had needed to punish someone who had made off with their best tunic or toga while they were in the baths. But not Placidus, no, not him. His needs were not for clothing. He needed his honor. He needed Aquila to hurt.

It was slow going writing wrong-handed, but he scratched out his message nonetheless:

 _Placidus complains to the god Mercury about Aquila and his freedman Esca. They have cursed me with evil spells and caused me to lose health and respect before others. Let Aquila--_

And here he paused, thoughtful, putting the stylus to his lips. What should he ask for? Ah. Suffering, perhaps. Yes, that would be an excellent thing.

 _Let Aquila's wounds pain him gravely, let him suffer thus, and let him not sleep until my good fortunes are restored to me. For this I will give the god two golden rings at his temple._

With the words having been written, he crumpled up the tablet and threw it into the closest part of the spring along with the rest of the tablets, where the warm water bubbled up from the earth. The water rippled and the little tablet sank; the curse was accepted.

Now he had only to wait.

As he turned, the crowd moving around him, he saw Aquila coming out of the baths, Esca at his side. They, clearly, had lingered at the baths, whereas Placidus had hurried out to curse him. And they did not see him as they moved past him in the crowd. Good.

Suddenly Aquila stopped and staggered; his hand went to his leg. Oh, excellent, the curse was quick, so quick. _Thank you_ , Placidus thought fervently, to Mercury.

"Marcus, what's wrong?" he heard Esca saying, his voice cutting quick and concerned through the grumbling of passers-by.

Aquila's face was pale. "Ah, it's my leg, acting up on me again already."

Yes. Perfect.

"Is it bad?"

Aquila gave a tight nod. "I don't think I'll get any sleep tonight, if it's like this."

It was exactly as he had asked for, all of it. Placidus started to smile--

And then Esca wrapped an arm around Aquila and let the other man lean on him. "Come then, let us go back to our rooms, and I'll rub your leg for you, and then you'll still get no sleep." His voice was full of teasing, some kind of private joke, and Placidus was instantly, irrationally jealous. How was it that people _liked_ this man so?

And Esca's words made no sense whatsoever. It was all very strange.

Aquila laughed, and his voice was low. "How do you figure that?" But he said it like he already knew the answer.

The damned Briton smirked again. "Just think about all the things we can do to each other after your leg feels better, eh?"

He was fucking the man after all? Placidus gaped. Or maybe he was having Esca fuck him, the pervert. Perhaps Placidus had not asked for the right kind of suffering. He had meant _pain_ , not... that.

"Esca," Aquila said, his voice strangled, "what did we decide about things that were appropriate for public conversations?"

And that was the last thing Placidus heard from either of them, as they turned the corner and were gone. He stared after them in horror.

It was not fair. Aquila still had his health, as much as before, and Placidus still nothing. And he even took _pleasure_ , disgusting as it was, in his filthy barbarian. Why did the curse not work? He had asked--

Oh. He had asked that Aquila's wound pain him, and it did. He had asked that the man get no sleep, and it seemed he would not. Exactly as he asked. And perhaps Aquila would even -- he shuddered to picture it -- suffer, as he had mistakenly asked.

He merely had not been specific enough. That was the problem. _Liver_ , he thought viciously. _This time, liver and lungs. I'll do another one._

Placidus stalked back over to the seller. "I want another tablet," he growled, and reached for his money-pouch--

It was gone.

Someone in the crowd had, no doubt, snatched it from him in his distraction. Damn the thief.

"I don't suppose you work on credit?"

The woman shook her head; Placidus could have sworn she was trying not to giggle.

Truly the gods hated him. He had not done anything wrong.

Turning, he stalked off down the street. Maybe a tavern would let him drink on credit, and if not, he could sell a ring or two. Bacchus, at least, could not be any worse a choice. It was going to be an awful, awful month.

**Author's Note:**

> For all your curse-tablet-related needs, please enjoy [Curse Tablets from Roman Britain](http://curses.csad.ox.ac.uk/). I have no idea whether people actually cursed other people back when they thought they'd been cursed, but it seemed sensible to me.


End file.
